


Letters

by fixitter (dutchydoescoke)



Category: The Fall (2006)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchydoescoke/pseuds/fixitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first letter isn’t particularly long, but Roy spends hours reading it anyway. It’s addressed to him, words painstakingly neat, reading ‘Roy in the wheelchair’ with the hospital’s address underneath. There’s no return address or name on the envelope itself, but Roy can guess who it’s from. Only one person would write him a letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> I loved The Fall, could not get it out of my head, and damn it, I wanted Alexandria and Roy to see each other again.
> 
> So, this fic happened. This fic is also partially blamed on my friend Stacie for giving me the idea.
> 
> I debated for ages over how to end it or if I should continue it or what, but I am happy with it. So.

The first letter isn’t particularly long, but Roy spends hours reading it anyway. It’s addressed to him, words painstakingly neat, reading ‘Roy in the wheelchair’ with the hospital’s address underneath. There’s no return address or name on the envelope itself, but Roy can guess who it’s from. Only one person would write him a letter.

She tells him about her days in the orange groves, how she buried the old man’s teeth, about finding a butterfly just like the one in his story. Her words are misspelled, and Roy smiles at it, because it’s not gibberish. She was right about that, and he had been too buried in himself to care.

There’s a small note tucked in the envelope, with an address and a message in a different handwriting, saying _write back_.

Roy does.

He writes about how his days aren’t as interesting without her around, and how there’s no one here to giggle with him and help him create stories. He tells her he misses her and how he hopes to see her again someday.

He sends it, carefully copying the address so there’s no mistaking it, and waits. It’s a week before he gets a reply. She informs him that they can still tell the story, but he’s not allowed to kill everyone this time. There’s a picture, too, folded and tucked in. Even if the masks didn’t give it away, he suspects he’d know it was the Black Bandit and Little Bandit anyway.

He gets the nurse to help him put the picture up on the wall, next to the other one she drew for him, and smiles every time he sees them.

He writes back, picking up the story from where it left off. Maybe he cheats a little, so the characters aren’t really dead, but she loved them, and if he’s being honest, he got a little fond of the monkey, too.

Her reply comes with commentary, obviously writing her comments and complaints as she read, correcting him on things he should fix, with a very stubborn comment at the end reminding him that she’s his daughter. He smiles and nods, as if she can see him, and writes it into the next part. He should’ve known she wouldn’t let him forget.

He sends it, and tries and fails not to be disappointed when the reply doesn’t come. At least, until he realizes that this reply comes in the form of a little girl barrelling in and tugging his curtain back.

She doesn’t even wait for him to acknowledge her before climbing up on the bed and hugging him, saying his name cheerfully and pointing out her pictures before asking him to tell her the next part of the story.

He grins. It’s an automatic response at this point, because she’s a little ball of sunshine to him, and even his darkest moments couldn’t extinguish that, she still made him smile. When she asks again, bouncing slightly with impatience, he acquiesces, smiling widely, even though he has physical therapy tomorrow and he used to spend the day before scowling and irritated, because she’s turned smiling into the knee-jerk reaction with her around. Not even a visit from Governor Odious himself could put a damper on his mood right now.

She shifts where she’s curled up next to him on the bed and he honest-to-God giggles, pausing in the story, because she’s managed to hit the one ticklish spot on his body, and his leg jerks slightly. It’s not much, but it’s enough to catch his attention, and hers, and she gives him a brilliant smile, declaring him as _getting better_.

Unfortunately, it’s at that time when her mother comes to collect her, and she bids him goodbye with another hug (tighter than they were before, but having both arms to use tends to do that) and telling him to write. He promises to and smiles as she leaves.

(Walt, still in the bed across the room, stares. Over the past several months, he’s grown used to Roy being angry, sad, depressed, any number of negative emotions. Roy being happy and grinning is unsettling, still.)

He writes the next one and sends it just before he goes for his physical therapy, dutifully reporting the leg jerk to the doctor. The doctor’s declaration of him getting better doesn’t make him quite as happy, but at least it’s progress.

The next time she visits, it's months later and he's actively been working enough to be able to stand up to meet her. He's not completely better, and he can barely walk, his legs weak after spending months on end in a bed, but he's getting there. She shrieks and grins and hugs him so tight around the legs that he nearly falls over, but he can't bring himself to be upset with her for it.

Before she can talk about the story, he has to ask, because it's been gnawing at him since after her second fall.

_Why did you forgive me? Why didn’t you get angry?_

She smiles and tells him that while he may have done bad things, it wasn't entirely him. She tells him that it wasn’t his broken heart, like the other people said.

_You were sad inside. Not your fault. Something wasn’t right._

_And now?_

_You’re getting better, too._


End file.
